


Field Work

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint!Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking down as many HYDRA bases as they can is important work for Strike Team Delta, but Phil really just wants to curl up in bed with Clint and Natasha. He doesn't really get his wish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Field Work

**Author's Note:**

> "Write the fic you want to read" is a favorite saying that's been going around tumblr lately. I like it. So I wanted this, and I hope a few other people did, too.

Phil found Clint’s quiver first. It was lying on the grass with three arrows spilling out of it, half in the quiver and half on the grass. It looked sloppy, and Phil had to stifle the urge to stop and put the arrows back in properly and pick it up. He walked past it, though, scanning the area more carefully.

The barbed wire fence of the compound was a twisted scarf of metal now, and there were three dead HYDRA guards, young men with clean-shaven faces and arrows protruding through their chests only about ten feet to the left of where the quiver had been discarded. Phil swallowed his abstract rage about how any of them had to end up here, now, fighting this fight.

He moved on.

He stepped carefully down the line of metal fence, shifting his gaze from left to right. A few yards from the quiver and guards, and his earpiece crackled.

“Coulson, we’ve got the base secured. Any sign of Hawkeye?” Natasha asked. He thought her voice sounded tired. They’d all had a long day, so she probably was. His own bones were aching with exhaustion, and his clothes were sticking to his body, soaked in sweat. The last two hours, after Strike Team Delta had confirmed the base priority thanks to infiltration by Natasha and Clint, had been a bloody fight. Phil’s hands were blistered and sore from firing and fighting – he’d had to resort to fists and his trusty knife for the last few minutes.

Now, he had to clear his throat and swallow before he could answer Natasha. “I found his quiver and a few dead guards in the area. Still searching.”

“You’re on the north side of the compound?”

“Affirmative. His last known location.” Phil blinked slowly, readjusted his direction, and looked back to the quiver lying askew on the ground. He focused on a point where the twisted remains of the fence met a line of trees. He couldn’t see anyone on the ground there, but the shadows of the nearby forest were cast long in the evening light.

“Coulson!” Natasha said, and her voice was sharp. She must’ve asked him something already.

“What?”

“Why would he ditch his quiver?”

Phil stopped and stared back at the quiver, then at the men dead on the ground. He walked back to the quiver to look again. The strap was broken. “The grass around it is flattened and scuffed. Looks like maybe he ended up in a fight. They must’ve torn it off,” he told her, and he was tired enough that the rage about such a thing that would’ve been kept buried seeped into his voice unbidden. He turned back to the tree line again.

“I’ll come to you,” she said, and he nodded absently, as if she could see him, and walked deliberately toward the trees. He saw how the grass was tamped down, like. . . like a body was being dragged. Fuck. His breathing sped up and his skin prickled with anticipation as he got closer to the shadows. He pulled his gun and released the safety.

When the hair on the back of his neck stood up, he ducked on instinct and a rain of bullets flew past him, the report of the gunfire echoing across the now-silent compound. He ran for the trees and took cover behind a large oak as another round of gunfire washed around the tree.

“Stay away or I’ll kill ‘im now!” A voice called. “I swear I will!”

Those were the words of the frightened, Phil knew. He knew how to deal with frightened. What stirred his own fear was that Clint wasn’t chiming in with some sarcastic comment about football or hockey – he always found the sports metaphors with the bad guys. If it was him that this guy had, he wasn’t in any condition to help.

“You should let me come to him,” Phil called. “We have others looking, too. They won’t be as forgiving as I will if they catch you trying to hurt him. Let him go and we won’t kill you.” He risked a quick look in the direction of the voice, and sure enough it was another too-young HYDRA agent with his free arm wrapped around the neck of an unconscious Clint. He felt bark beneath his fingernails as he clenched his hands against the tree. Clint had blood splashed across his cheek and his left eye was swollen, but Phil couldn’t see any other injuries clearly.

“I know SHEILD won’t take survivors,” the man said with a snarl. “You’re looking for him, you’ll let me go and – fuck!” he shouted. He fired his gun again, but even as Phil stepped around the tree with his gun up, Clint had him flipped onto the ground and had him in a chokehold. The gun fell with a thump to the grass and the man grabbed at Clint’s hands in desperation. Clint grunted and held him tighter, and after a moment, the guy passed out. Clint let him go and stumbled backwards.

He tried to stay upright, but his arm crumpled beneath him and he ended up on his back with his eyes clenched shut and sucking in short, shallow breaths. Phil put his gun away and knelt down next to him. He catalogued a cut near his ear, his swollen eye, probably a broken rib or two from the way he was breathing, and, “Fuck, Clint he tagged you good,” Phil muttered as he undid the buckles on Clint’s vest to get it off and found it slick with blood.

He tapped his earpiece. “I found him. Get a medic, one hundred yards or so west from the quiver and three dead guards.”

“Dammit, Phil,” Nat answered after a moment. “We’ve got too many casualties. Medic delay. I’ll give them the directions. I’m almost to you, though.”

Phil got the vest off and sucked in a sharp breath. “Clint,” he said, and stared at the blood soaked t-shirt under his vest. He peeled it away to reveal a hole right underneath Clint’s right ribcage. He looked up at Clint and put his hand to his cheek.

Clint opened his eyes and swallowed. “Hurts like hell,” he whispered, and he closed his eyes again slowly, like he didn’t want to.

“Clint,” Phil said, and he poured force into his voice. Command. “Look at me.” When Clint opened his eyes again, pain was etched across his face. “Stay awake. I’m getting help.” Clint gave a small nod and held Phil’s gaze like a lifeline. Natasha skidded to a halt and knelt down next to them. Phil glanced over as she brushed her fingers above Clint’s wound.

She looked up at Phil. “The medics are overwhelmed. Transport got blown up in the fight, so they’re down a lot of equipment and we don’t have a ride. Jasper’s calling in backup but it might be awhile.” She looked down at Clint, who was still conscious, but wasn’t looking at either of them. “We have more wounded than anticipated, too,” she said softly.

She looked uninjured, though she did have a good gash down her collarbone and a bruised cheekbone, and dust and dirt covered her face. Her red lips and green eyes stood out like bits of color in a black-and-white movie, and she was moving stiffly. She kept her eyes on Clint, but leaned into Phil a little. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He thought of the myriad of answers he could give – about how he wished the three of them were back at their apartment watching a hockey game from the comfort of their fluffy sink-into-it couch, or eating Thai food together, or sleeping uninterrupted in a pile on a Saturday morning in their King-sized bed, or playing Mario Kart after breakfast – but the blood on his hand where he was pressing on Clint’s wound distracted him, so he just said, “I’m not hurt.”

Clint opened his eyes and licked his dry lips, so Natasha leaned close and said, “I’m going to get you some help, but you have to stay awake for Phil while I do it, okay? You stay awake until I get back.” Her face was set, the way Phil usually loved to see her face set, but he saw the fear molding the mask, not the confidence. It was unusual.

Clint nodded weakly and whispered, “Thanks, Nat. Be careful.”

She just stood, slapped a pair of cuffs on the knocked out goon on the ground nearby, gave Phil a weighty look, and headed back to the compound.

“Phil?” Clint said, as Phil watched her go.

He turned back to Clint with a snap of his neck so hard he might’ve pulled something. “Clint,” he started, but then he didn’t know what to say. He never knew what to say when he was trying to hold Clint together in the field. Hold the blood in, hold the blood in was all he could think about. Clint’s skin was pale and he was sweating, and Phil could feel him trembling under the pressure of Phil’s hands on the wound. His eyes were piercing, though.

“Phil,” he said, more clearly than before. “Did we clear it?”

Phil nodded and pushed a little harder on the wound. “Yes,” he answered. “We shut it down.”

They had to shut it down. They all knew that they had to shut as many HYDRA hideouts down as was possible, regardless of casualties.

“Lost my arrows,” Clint murmured, and he closed his eyes for a moment and then looked at Phil again.

Phil was proud of him for trying to stay awake and hanging on. He brushed his other hand through Clint’s sweat-damp hair. Phil loved Clint’s hair. It was sandy, dirty blond, and Phil never got to date a blond guy until Clint came along. Maybe it was stupid to care, but Phil always crushed on competent blonds and never felt like he stood a chance with them. When Clint came along and turned him around so much that they were dating before Phil even realized Clint was probably out of his league, Phil just counted himself lucky and rolled with it.

“I found them,” Phil replied, and moved his free hand to Clint’s cheek. “They’re safe and accounted for.” He paused. “Lazy of you to drop them, though.”

It didn’t produce a smile, but the pinched look through the obvious pain was enough for Phil.

“I’m always picking up after you and Natasha,” he added, just for luck.

Clint took the bait, thank god. “Who makes coffee for you every day?” he asked, and his voice was rough, like someone poured a cup of sand down his throat.

“You, but you also drink it straight from the carafe, so.” Phil leaned close, breathed against Clint’s neck for a moment, like if he could just breathe enough of him he’d never lose him.

“Efficient,” Clint replied, soft as a breeze, but then he arched for a second, grimacing and sucking a quick breath in through hollowed cheeks. “Fuuuck,” he groaned.

Phil kept his hand on the wound and ducked his head. “You’ll get through it, Clint. Use some of the stubbornness you give me at the office.” Phil offered random assurances to keep him awake. Sometimes assurances are worth more than bandages, though.

Clint licked his lips again and Phil ignored the blood on his teeth because what he’s doing is all he can do until the fucking medics arrive.

“Nat’s safe?” Clint asked.

Phil can barely hear him. He nods. “She’s getting you some help.”

“Getting you help.”

“What?”

“You need help helping me,” Clint said, and he tried to smile.

That attempt at a smile, while he was laying here bruised and bleeding, pierced Phil’s heart a little, drew a little blood, because this was why he loved Clint so goddamned much. A smile in a hurricane, that was Clint. A joke with a blade against his neck, that was Clint.

“I always need help with you,” Phil replied, and he smiled back. “That’s why I recruited Natasha.”

“I recruited Nat.”

“You brought her in. I saw the way you listened to her. Saw an opportunity and took it,” Phil said.

Clint was silent, and he shut his eyes.

“Clint,” Phil implored.

Clint looked at Phil again and Phil let out a breath.

“Killed some kids today,” Clint murmured.

Phil thought of the bodies of the young men he passed and sighed. “They weren’t kids, Clint.”

“Looked like kids.”

“They chose to do this. They weren’t kids.” Phil had to believe that. Had to believe that the game between HYDRA and the rest of the world hadn’t reached that far, hadn’t gotten as bad as involving boys and girls too young to do more than swear allegiance and pick up a gun. If he stopped believing that, he might just go crazy.

“Felt weird.”

“Yeah,” Phil whispered, and he ran his free hand through Clint’s hair again. “Hold on, Clint.”

Just then, Natasha jogged up and knelt down. “Did he listen to me?” she asked, and put her hand to Clint’s pale cheek. Phil felt a surge of energy at her return. She was stalwart and he knew she wasn’t going to panic, no matter what happened next. It buoyed him.

“He listened,” Phil said, and looked over his shoulder at the medical team coming their way. “We need to get him out of here, though.”

She nodded and kept rubbing Clint’s cheek. “Fury knows how bad it is. Sent a Quinjet and it should be here soon.” She looked down at Clint. “Hey, just because the medics are here doesn’t mean you get to check out. Stay awake, Barton.”

“You’re more demanding than Phil,” Clint said around a shallow breath, and Phil didn’t like how papery his voice sounded.

“That’s why he likes me,” Natasha replied, and looked over at Phil with a grin.

“It’s true,” Phil said, and it was.

She demanded more of both of them, and while Phil would argue that he and Clint complimented each other, he’d also argue that being with Nat, too, made them both stronger and better. She made them want to rise up, and she never took any crap from either of them. When they all started living together and sleeping together, she wasn’t always in control, but she always had demands that they enjoyed meeting. That she knew all of this wasn’t surprising to Phil at all.

The medics joined them, and all but shoved Phil and Natasha out of the way. Harris, one of Phil’s favorites, started cussing at Clint right away. Clint liked her, too.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Barton, letting yourself get hit like this?” She asked as she turned him slightly to check his back.

Clint groaned. “Thinking I’d make your fucking job harder,” he gritted out.

She laughed, and looked over at Phil with an eyebrow raised. “He’s not so bad off he can’t still be a prick, huh?” She turned to the other medic, a guy Phil didn’t really know, and gave him a list of instructions. “Jet’s ETA is fifteen minutes,” she said to Clint, “You have to do your fucking job a little longer, okay?”

Clint nodded weakly and Natasha moved to his head and laid her hands on his cheeks. He closed his eyes for a moment and blew out a breath. Phil knew he was exhausted and worry threaded through Phil’s chest every time Clint closed his eyes.

“Fifteen minutes is a long time,” Phil said to Harris.

She looked up at him and held his gaze. “It is, but I’m good at my job and Clint’s too fucking crazy to die in a forest in Bumfuck, Germany. Eddie’s getting drugs; you could go back to our stash and get a blanket and bottle of water.”

Phil knew she was basically shooing him away to keep him from worrying so much, but if it would help Clint, he’d go. He moved to stand, but Clint cried out. “No, Phil!” He reached out, but the pain of moving made him blanch and writhe.

Harris swore again. “Goddammit, Barton, stay still!” she commanded, and then “Fine, Phil stays. Fuck.” And Clint laid back again, panting as Harris readjusted her pressure on his wound.

“Shhhh, Clint, settle,” Phil said, putting a hand to his shoulder.

Eddie returned with a syringe and pack of fresh bandages, a field pressure bandage included. He leaned over Clint and spoke in the friendliest voice Phil had heard in weeks. “Hey, we’re gonna give you a local anesthetic. We don’t want you passing out on us, though, okay? You’re tired, but you need to stay awake a bit longer, okay?” His voice had a lilt that was reassuring and tinted with a slight southern twang.

Clint nodded, and looked up at Natasha. “He’s too nice,” he whispered, and there he was again, trying to grin through the pain.

“We’ll train it out of him,” she replied, and she watched as Harris used the needle to numb the area around the bullet hole.

“There we go,” she mumbled, and Phil saw her count under her breath before she put the pressure bandage to Clint’s side. Eddie stood and headed out for the blanket and water.

Phil could see Clint’s body relax, and he blew out a breath of his own. He watched Harris take Clint’s blood pressure, though, and she frowned as she put the cuff away and pushed her sleeve up to look at her watch. Phil realized she’d set it to a countdown for fifteen minutes.

“Phil,” she said gently, and he saw Natasha tense at the tone. He did, too. “I’m going to go get a field transfusion kit set-up. We need to get him some blood sooner rather than later. We don’t have much since the fuckers blew up our transport, but we’d already unloaded some. I’ll see if I can scrounge enough to keep this idiot going. Keep him awake if you can.”

“She keeps calling you an idiot, Clint,” Natasha said, leaning over Clint’s face. Since Harris and Eddie were both gone, she brushed a kiss down his cheek.

“She knows her patients,” Clint said airily. “I give her too much shit.”

Phil laughed and took a moment to touch Clint and Natasha both. He rubbed Clint’s arm and leaned into Natasha’s shoulder. He needed grounding as his fear about Clint’s blood loss was mounting. “Just enough,” he said. “She wouldn’t want anything else from you.”

“I need to sleep,” Clint said suddenly. He closed his eyes and Natasha slapped his cheek lightly.

“Not yet, Clint,” she said. “Come on.”

“Reasons to stay awake,” Phil said. It was a common game on missions. “My coffee.”

Clint opened his eyes as Natasha smiled and added, “Those precious moments when Clint actually uses a coffee cup.”

“Hey,” Clint whispered. “How about Phil taking off his suit coats at the end of the day?”

Natasha nodded and said, “Mmhhmm. Good one.”

Phil shook his head. “Caffeine and my white shirts? Glad to see what’s really worth living for these days.”

Clint said something, but now his voice was too weak. Natasha leaned over.

“What?” she asked, and rubbed Clint’s cheek.

“Sex with you two,” he said, trying to put a little more strength into it.

Phil smiled and brushed his hands down Clint’s arms, just feeling his skin, but it was too cold, and Phil had to swallow his fear. “See, that should be at the top, right?”

Clint’s eyes got glassy and Phil leaned closer. He was pressing against Natasha. “Something else, Clint. Name something else.” He couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice.

Clint swallowed and blinked, and said, “Those guys were too young, Phil.”

Phil’s heart broke a little and he nodded. “I know. I know, Clint. But it’s not on us. It’s not on you.”

Clint shuddered, and Phil saw the bandage soak further with blood.

“Hang on, Clint,” Nat whispered. “Stay awake.”

Clint fixed his gaze on both of them, and narrowed his eyes. “I fucking hate HYDRA. Tell Harris she better not…” he sucked in a sharp breath. “Better not let me die at a fucking HYDRA base,” he added, and closed his eyes.

No amount of imploring would get him to open them again, and Harris cussed him out mightily as she set up a transfusion when she got back. Phil hadn’t heard a swath of swearing like that since his time in the Rangers.

She didn’t let Clint die at a HYDRA base, though.

It was a long three weeks in medical and a long two months recovering afterward, but as soon as Clint was up and doing desk work since he couldn’t do field work, he roped Phil and Natasha into helping him order the ugliest bunch of flowers and candies and he hand-delivered them to Harris and Eddie. She flipped him off and dove into the chocolate while Eddie thanked them and explained which flowers were his favorite.

Clint never did get Eddie to cuss at him, but he tried for a long time. Natasha told him that the flowers ruined his chances.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love the things one Googles while writing. Yes, there are field transfusion kits, and apparently you can buy them online. What a world. PS: I didn't think about it until way after I named him, but if I'm not mistaken, Eddie is also the name of the very chipper elevator in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Just thought I'd point it out for giggles.


End file.
